The Innocent (29 page)

“Okay, somebody looking to put a bomb on a particular bus. How would they know which was which?”

“You asking me to think like some maniac?”

“Nothing on the bus exterior to tell them?”

“Oh sure, there’s a number on the front of the bus. The 112 goes to New York. The 97 bus goes to Miami.”

Robie said, “So whoever put the bomb on there would be able to tell which bus was which if they had the bus schedule or checked online?”

“I guess that’s right.”

“Or if they worked here.”

Willie took a step back. “Look, man, I ain’t got no idea how somebody put a bomb on one of our buses, if that’s what happened. And I sure as hell didn’t help them do it. I knew two of the people got blowed up. One was a friend and the other knew my momma. Went up to New York once a month to visit her granddaughter. Wore a damn robe on the bus. I used to think it was funny. Don’t think it’s funny no more. Almost gave my momma a heart attack when she found out.”

Robie thought back to the bus ride, to the old lady in her robe who had been screaming.

“So the 112 goes to New York.” He eyed the fence. Easy enough to get over. The bomber could have hopped the fence when the guard was on the other side of the property. Plant the bomb and then be gone. Less than a minute.

He looked at Willie. “That night, how long was the 112 bus sitting out here before the driver showed?”

Willie thought about this. “Didn’t have much work to do on it. It got in early from the last trip. Chester did the checklist, vacuumed the interior. I did the outside wash, fueled and then parked it. Maybe two-three hours.”

Robie nodded. “Did you notice anyone suspicious around?”

“I’m inside most of the time working on the buses. Guard might have seen something, but probably not.”

“Why’s that?”

“He does more eating in his little guard shack than walking, you get my drift. Why he’s so fat.”

“Okay.”

“Can I get back to work now?”

“Thanks for the information.”

Willie left him and walked back into the building.

Robie stood there in the dark and eyeballed the spot the 112 bus had been in. Bomber did the bus. Robie got on the bus. Robie got off the bus. Bus blew up. They sent a shooter into the alley to finish the job. Someone really wanted him bad.

Another thought occurred to him.
But maybe not that bad.

“Doing some private sleuthing on your off time?”

He turned and looked through the chain-link fence.

Nicole Vance was staring back at him.

R
OBIE WALKED THROUGH
the open gate.

“Where have you been all this time?” asked Vance.

“Let’s go back to Donnelly’s,” said Robie.

“Why?”

“I want to check something I should have already checked.”

Fifteen minutes later Robie stood in the same spot he had on the night an MP-5 had tried to rip his life away. He eyed where the SUV had been, then his defensive position behind the trash cans, and then over his shoulder at the shattered plate glass window. He walked back and forth and framed, in his mind’s eye, the shot pattern of the attackers.

“Total number of dead and wounded as of right now?” he asked Vance, who was watching him.

“Six dead, five wounded. One’s still in the hospital but looks like he’ll make it.”

“But not us,” said Robie.

“What?”

“We’re not dead.”

“A somewhat obvious deduction,” Vance said dryly.

“Eleven people shot, six fatally, and yet the shooter misses us? We were the closest target, right out in the open. Aluminum trash cans the only thing between us, thirty-round clips, and a cooler bed at the D.C. morgue.”

“You’re saying the shooter missed us on purpose?”

He looked over to find Vance staring at him, a perplexed look on her face.

“How does that make sense?” she asked.

“How does it make sense that the guy missed us at basically point-blank range with a weapon that is designed for mass destruction in narrow fields of fire? There should be at least eight dead, including you and me. Look at the shot pattern. He was firing
around
us.”

“Then are you saying they killed all those people for what? A warning? Something to do with the Wind case? The bus bombing?”

Robie didn’t answer her. His thoughts were racing ahead, taking him in a direction he had never expected to go.

“Robie?”

He turned to her.

Vance said slowly, “I guess looking at it that way, what you’re saying makes sense. I guess we should be dead. Then it has to relate to the Winds, or the bus, or maybe both.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“But Robie—”

He turned back away from her to stare at the spot on the street again from where the SUV had launched its attack.

Someone has tagged me. Someone is playing mind games with me. Someone close is trying to get to me, screw with me.

“Robie, do you have any other enemies?” asked Vance.

“None that I can think of,” he said absently.

Other than a few hundred
, he thought.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.

He broke off his thoughts and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you tell me everything?”

“What?”

He faced her. “Do you tell me everything?” he demanded.

“I guess not.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“But you told me I could trust you.”

“You can, but you have your agency and I have mine. I’m assuming you’ll tell me everything you can and I’ll do the same. I’ve got people to report to and so do you. It all has limits. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work together to get the job done.”

Vance glanced down at her feet, poked a cigarette butt lying on the street with the toe of her shoe. “So you find anything over at the bus maintenance shop that you
can
tell me?”

“That bus was parked there a long time, long enough for someone to plant the bomb on it.”

“So the bomber knew the target was going to be on the bus.”

“Do we have a passenger list?”

“Only partially. For those who paid with a credit card, not for those who paid with cash, unless a family member or friend came forward and told us a person was on the bus.”

“So how many people on the bus?”

“Thirty-six plus the driver. We’re doing background checks on all known persons that were on the bus. That’s twenty-nine people. That leaves eight unaccounted for. They were probably walk-ups that night who paid cash for the tickets.”

Robie thought,
That includes Julie and the hit man.

“Can I see the list?”

She slipped out her phone and hit some buttons. She held the screen out to him.

He ran his gaze down the list. Julie wasn’t on it. And thankfully neither was Gerald Dixon, which meant Julie had not used his credit card to buy her ticket. But no other name on the list meant anything to him, other than the alias Robie had reserved his ticket under.

Okay, he had been the target, not Julie. But then why really try and kill him on the bus and then miss him on purpose when the MP-5 had him in the kill zone?

The plan changed, that’s why. They wanted me dead. Now they want me alive. But why?

“Robie?”

He looked up from the screen to find Vance gazing at him.

“I don’t recognize anyone on that list.” His lies to her were piling up quickly.

“So we still don’t know the target.”

Robie did not want to lie to her again so soon, thus he said, “Anything new on Rick Wind?”

“ME did the post. Cause of death was suffocation.”

“How?”

“Petechial hemorrhaging was the main clue. But he wasn’t initially sure how it was accomplished. No pillow over the face, nothing like that.”

“Why hide the manner of the killing?” asked Robie as he drew in a long breath.

“Harder to find out who did it.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“But he did find out the manner of killing eventually.”

Robie looked at her. “And you couldn’t tell me that first why?”

“I like melodrama.”

“How was he killed, Vance?” Robie said sharply.

“They forced his severed tongue down his throat and wedged it there. They used his own cut-out tongue to kill him,” she said just as sharply.

“Thanks,” he said tersely.

“Look, Robie. If the killing of Jane Wind and her husband and the bus exploding are connected, there have to be some common denominators.”

“The only reason you think they’re connected is because of the gun. That gun wasn’t used to kill Jane Wind and her son. As I said before, whoever was in that apartment could have just flung it away after he got out of the apartment. It could have nothing to do with the bus exploding.”

“Or it could.”

“You really believe that or do you just want to have a terrorist bust and a murder conviction on your résumé?”

“My résumé is doing just fine with or without this case,” she snapped.

“All I’m saying is don’t have tunnel vision on this. If the cases aren’t connected then trying to hook them together is not smart. You make assumptions and decisions based on those assumptions that you otherwise wouldn’t make. And you pound round pegs into square holes in the process. You get an answer but it’ll be the wrong one. And it’s doubtful you’ll get a second chance to make it right.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Okay, what would you do?”

“Work both cases, but in parallel. You don’t cross the streams unless you have solid evidence of a connection. And that means something more than a gun near the scene.”

“Okay, that makes sense, actually.”

Robie checked his watch. “I’m going to grab a few hours’ sleep. Anything shakes loose you can wake me up.”

“You have a place to sleep now? If not, you’re welcome to crash at my place.”

Robie glanced at her. “You sure about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were afraid people might give you shit, even though I’m on the couch.”

“You don’t talk. I don’t talk. And even if it gets out, it was all professional, so screw them. So I can do you the favor.”

“I’ve got a place. That changes, I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

He walked to his car. He had turned her down for a specific reason.

In his line of work favors were almost never free.

And he wanted to check on Julie.

R
OBIE UNLOCKED THE DOOR
and turned off the alarm system. He shut and locked the door behind him and reset the alarm.

“Julie?”

He moved down the hall, his hand on the butt of his weapon.

“Julie?”

He cleared three rooms before reaching her bedroom. He eased the door open. She was asleep in the bed. Just to be sure, Robie watched the steady rise and fall of her chest three times. He closed the door and walked down the hall to his bedroom.

He sat on the bed but did not undress. He felt hot and cold at the same time.

His phone rang. At first he thought it might be Vance, but it wasn’t.

It was Blue Man.

He answered. “Got anything for me?” he asked.

“Leo Broome’s a Fed. Works as a public liaison officer.”

“For what agency? DOD?”

“No. DOA.”

“The Agriculture Department?” exclaimed Robie. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What else in his background?”

“It’s being emailed to you right now. Take a read. And see what hits you.”

“There has to be something there,” said Robie.

“Then find it.”

Robie’s email inbox buzzed. He hit the requisite keys and
brought up the story of Leo Broome’s professional life. He read it over carefully. Then he read it again, putting in order certain elements that seemed most promising.

“What are you doing up?” he said, without looking at her.

Julie stood there in sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt and looking sleepy. “How did you know I was even standing here? I made no noise.”

“Everyone makes noise regardless of what they’re doing.”

“I think you have eyes in the back of your head, Will.”